Thank you World, I Needed That

Thank you to the person this morning who noticed that I dropped a sweater on the sidewalk on the way to the dry cleaners. Thank you, thank you for picking it up and draping it over my driver’s side mirror.

Thank you sweet, efficient ladies who work in the dry cleaners and say yes, I can pick everything up on Wednesday because I have a funeral on Thursday.

Thank you sunshine and cold morning air that’s sure to warm up today – I can sense it, finally, spring finally breaking through after weeks of chilly gloom in this gray city.

Thank you funny Starbucks guy who never gets rattled when people like me say grande when they mean venti, and venti when they want grande.

Thank you, boss, for understanding that I sent my daughter to school today with no sports equipment, even though she has team practice after school – and that I sent my son to school saddled down with sports equipment even though he has no team practice after school – and that I had to go home and then go to their school to sort it all out on work time.

Thank you funny friend for telling me it doesn’t matter if my date liked me or not last night – that it only matters if I liked him – and that you can’t start out a good story about a date by wondering out loud if you were rejected or not.

….

Thank you, all, for showing me that the world is generally a good place, and that people are generally decent and kind. Because later today I need to deal with my ex and his lies about how our dog escaped in his care, and how he signed up my son for a sport – that he’s coaching! – behind my back. And how, somehow, all of this is my fault.

And then I need to check to see if my mortgage check bounced because my ex gave me a custody check ripped so carelessly out of the checkbook that the check number was completely torn off. But I had no choice but to try to deposit it in the machine on Saturday anyhow because it was so late.

….

So, thank you for small kindnesses, world. And for being so ordinary and normal. I needed that.

Advertisements

Dating after Divorce: When they come back.

It didn’t end particularly well, this relationship of mine, my first new relationship since I was 23 and originally met my ex-husband.

I was hurt; he was a jerk. And my friends shook their heads and were thrilled it was over but said, “He’ll be back.”

And he is.

And I am elated in a petty and mean way. “Well, I guess it didn’t work out with the perfect new girlfriend,” I announced. “Well, I guess he wasn’t able to find anyone out there better than me!” I chortled.

And I ignore his texts. “Silence is the ultimate f*ck you,” I tell my friends.

But now I remember him all over again, and all our favorite restaurants and how he used to pick me up to go everywhere and when he trained my dog to stop jumping on people and the dinners he cooked for me and how he held my hand as we wandered through museums and down city streets on Saturday mornings.

And then I remember how he lied to me, and how there is no room for this in my life anymore. And how I didn’t think he was that nice to my dog. Or to waiters. And how I hated all his shoes. And then I nod and smile to myself and know it will all be okay, because no matter what, nothing will ever be as bad again as my divorce – every other setback or sadness pales in comparison. And I have learned from this relationship, about myself, about him, and about how the world works when you are divorced and starting over.

So I will never respond to him. But if I run into him, which is sure to happen eventually, I’ll smile and say hi and remember that he just wasn’t quite the person I thought he was.

And that’s okay. I choose to believe that he came into my life for a reason: to show me, however imperfectly, that there is love and light out there after divorce. And then he needed to shift out of the way so that I could keep moving towards that light.

 

 

 

 

Imaginary Boyfriends and the Divorced Mom

Imaginary boyfriends. Suddenly they seem to be everywhere.

One woman realized that her 40-something, never-married boyfriend was never going to commit, no matter how hard she tried. Blitzed on $15 fancy cocktails, she slid into his bed after a night out with the girls. When she woke up, she knew. Her perfect boyfriend was an illusion, and she was his booty call, and he would dump her if her demands get too serious. The relationship she believed in was imaginary. It existed only in her head, not his.

Another woman clung too hard to her first relationship after divorce because she was so afraid of living through the pain of breaking up again. The first few weeks with this man were perfect, but it was downhill after that. He was a liar and a creep. But she believed this must be a series of terrible coincidences, and if she worked hard enough, things would go back to those blissful early days. Needless to say, they did not, and day after day as she lost her self-confidence and self-esteem. It all ended when she got dumped, in a maelstrom of yelling and slammed doors and lost car keys and crocodile tears.

A beautiful divorced mom has a long, perfect relationship with a man she cannot marry because he is still married to someone else, a mentally ill woman who never leaves her house. He spends nearly all his time with his girlfriend, but she has never met his children, and probably never will, because he will never get divorced. And the girlfriend continues to date him, and he hangs out with her children and her lovely friends, as she she settles for an imaginary “almost” world.

A recently divorced woman met an almost fully divorced man from back home over the holidays and slept with him right away for fun. After all, she was unhappily married for 20 years, and she should just have fun. Right? But meanwhile, his life was consumed by divorce attorneys who didn’t call back, and angry teenage children, and screaming fights, and threatening emails from a personality-disordered soon-to-be-ex-wife. But the divorced mom hung on to this shit storm, pretending it didn’t matter – after all, it was all casual, right? But deep inside, she cared in a very unimaginary way.

A divorced mom meets a seriously handsome guy just right for her. Yet he’s a bit of a leech, waiting for an inheritance. He has many things going for him, but they all lead to the same thing: making himself indispensable to people who can help him. She does not break up with him – yet – he’s nice and handsome and helpful and cool. People like him. But he’s not the guy she wants him to be. And the relationship limps on, perfect on the outside, until she drinks too much and tells the real story of her imaginary perfect relationship.

The list goes on and on, story after story.

On the outside, these are not the sad, sorry stories of divorce. These are the women who have survived, overcome ugly histories, have have good jobs, and good friends, and whose children love them – women with fabulous hair and skin who fit into tiny jeans. These are the women who are not afraid to put themselves out there, to date again, to fall in love, to risk heartache and failure.

Some may say it’s low self esteem. But I believe it’s something different. I believe it all starts with the sorry state of online dating after divorce and men feeling that there is always someone better out there around the corner. And for this particular group of women, it’s knowing that when you work hard enough at most things, they work out. After all, that’s been their experience so far in life. So why not this, too?

And it’s wanting something so bad that you believe you can fix a situation that’s not fixable.

But sometimes life doesn’t work that way. And now, a rash of imaginary boyfriends. Where it ends I don’t know.

 

 

 

Online Dating After Divorce: Bachelor Number One

bread

He seemed interesting and smart. I liked that he grew up in California, and that he kayaks in the rapids near our homes. He is super fit. He is sarcastic and witty. Sophisticated. All that stuff that I like, I guess. He can flirt one moment and be incredibly sweet and sincere the next. He reads my emails carefully and responds thoughtfully. That was all good to me.

And then the bread thing happened. I received this photo of three loaves of bread that he baked one snowy evening – at the same time that I was sweating through several layers of clothing, determined to shovel out my driveway myself – me, the single mom who doesn’t need any help from anyone.

And I didn’t like him anymore.

I know what you’re thinking: What a jerk. No wonder she got divorced and now has to start dating in her late forties. And what’s wrong with a nice guy who bakes? How great is that? All men should bake! Women should appreciate men who bake.

But I don’t care anymore what anyone else thinks. I know this won’t work, and since I’m the only person who has to date him, I need to follow my gut. And my gut hates that photo.

I cancelled our date that snowy evening. The roads were too dangerous anyhow, and he had some crazy idea to drive through the blizzard of the century to a faraway tavern. He was disappointed, and a bit angry. But I stood firm, unlike anything I would have done in the past. My ex-husband was always the guy who would drive through snow and ice storms, with me clutching the arm rest, praying we would survive. When we skied every weekend during those early winters, he would take off, leaving the groomed trails to dodge fields of trees at breakneck speeds. He thrived on this.

It took me years to stop following him.

I realized that the bread guy has a few other things in common with my ex. He is overeducated, and has given up good jobs under murky circumstances, and now he works at a tiny nonprofit. And he complains about it. But does nothing. He seems to believe the world owes him something. But I know better though experience. The world owes us nothing. We make our lives what they are, though hard work and smarts and hopefully some luck. I learned this from my father, a self-made New Yorker who started his first job as an accountant who didn’t know who to use a calculator.

I am like my father. I have my children 2/3 of the time (plus some), and I have gone back to work full-time. I often sneak off to my car at lunchtime to sleep because I’m so exhausted, but I will not give up, and I will not admit I’m tired. I bargain at work to carpool my children to and from school and lacrosse and dances and playdates. I complain to dear and patient friends, while I work my ass off, like my father did before me. I know I’m lucky, and that my family helps me, but at the same time, I’m a worker, as we used to say in New York. A fixer, a striver, for better or worse.

And I think I need to find another worker, another striver.

The bread guy and I are still corresponding via text. He’s funny and smart – probably smarter than me. But he’s lost interest too, I think.

And that is okay. This is a learning process, for me and for him. I hope it brings us one more step towards what we are looking for.

 

 

 

Dating After Divorce: Lessons from a breakup

I truly believe we learn something from all relationships we have – both those that we decide to end and those that we don’t. These experiences make us better selves, show us what we want/need, and help us to be better partners . . .

These words arrived today from a friend, after my first breakup in more than 20 years.

These words made me sit down and think about the ways I improved myself and pushed myself and opened myself up in this relationship that ended.

These words made me sit down and think about what I want and need from future partners and friends. I could not have done this six months ago, without this relationship that ended.

And these words made me sit down and think about the ways that I could have done better too. And what I need to help me be better in future relationships.

All in all, I’ve learned a lot. Love and loss. Got it. Very different from my marriage. It’s going to be okay. It will just take a little tiny bit of time.

 

 

 

 

 

Dating After Divorce: No Give

I put my head on his shoulder but could never find a good spot. His arms and shoulders and torso were all rock hard despite his age. He exercised every day: running, biking, lifting, 90-minute pick-up soccer games.

My neck would get sore. Fast.

“You have no soft spot there,” I said.

And at the end, I finally realized, very few soft spots, period.

 

 

 

Dating after Divorce:A Cautionary Tale

“When you loved someone and had to let them go, there will always be that small part of yourself that whispers, “What was it that you wanted and why didn’t you fight for it?”
― Shannon L. Alder

 

When I struggled with infertility for years and years and then finally got pregnant with twins, I felt like I won the lottery. Twins! Adorable little toddling twins. Best friends forever. Double stroller, double cuteness, double everything.

But most of all, they would make up for my painful years of infertility, when I fell behind my friends who had baby after baby after baby.

And then early in my second trimester, I lost one of the twins. Devastated, I struggled every single day though the remainder of that high-risk pregnancy. I never knew if my remaining baby would make it.

But he did. And then I went to get pregnant naturally, giving birth to my second miracle baby just 17 months later.

And now I have two beautiful children. But it was so much harder in every way than having those twins make my family automatically complete. I still mourn for that little baby. I miss that little baby.

….

After the divorce I finally got brave enough to try online dating. Only 24 hours later, I read one perfect little note in my in-box that was otherwise cluttered with random and disturbing weirdness.

Out of the millions and millions of men on the site, this man turned out to be a dad from my children’s tiny’s little school. What a coincidence! What a great story! I thought he was perfect – handsome, sweet, smart, a bit quiet, and, okay I admit it: a serious six pack. He liked the same things that I did, and he had many of the same viewpoints about life. And he held my hand decisively, and made decisions for us, and I felt safe and loved.

I had hit the lottery again. We looked so great together; we had so much fun together. He would make up for all the years of being married to a mentally ill, increasingly hideous-looking loud and evil man.

But my perfect man didn’t really end up being the man I thought he was. He is not a truly terrible person like my ex-husband, but he’s not right for me either.

Deep down I know that it will be okay. But it still hurts. A lot.

I should have known that the first man I met could not make me complete. He can’t take away my suffering. And perhaps that’s not even a fair thing to expect from a mere mortal.

So now I learn my lesson again. Quick and easy fixes are no substitute for the hard work of life. And so I cry and I hurt again like I didn’t know was possible at my age. I grieve something that never was – someone, like that little baby, who would never truly be mine.

But somewhere deep down I know I will pop out the other side of this eventually and start working again to be the best me possible and find the right person out there for my best possible me.

 

 

 

 

Divorcing a Cheater NPD: Dealing with the trauma

For two decades, I lived with a serial liar and serial cheater. He is also an alcoholic, a sex addict, a narcissistic personality disordered person, and a probable sociopath.

We call him Genius because of his great spiral downward, his fall from grace, his descent into insanity in his forties. It’s a reference to when he was called “Boy Genius” by some very important people way back when he fooled us all – just before his spectacular descent into insanity. I suppose I’ll never really know if he was always sick and hiding it, or if he started spiraling downward, faster and faster down the rabbit hole, after he turned forty and after his bipolar, domineering mother died from lung cancer after chain smoking cigarettes for decades.

They were not speaking at the time of her death. She cut her son out of her will and dissolved her grandchildren’s college accounts and would call our voicemail repeatedly and scream, “You can’t ignore ME.”

I would shudder. Somehow I knew that those voicemails had Power.

I am not claiming that the problems started with those voicemails. But they signaled the end of life as I knew it.

. . .

My ex-husband is a man that made a distinguished judge finally scream, “You are a liar. You would lie about anything. I don’t believe a word you say.”

This is a man who came up with regular fake business trips. He would tell me he was traveling to Houston, but then go to New Orleans and other cities to meet women he met online.

This is a man who used an app that sent him fake emails from clients thanking him for dinners that never occurred, late nights at the office that never occurred, and business trips that never occurred.

This is a man who would text anonymous sex partners on an app on his phone while driving in a car with his wife, children, and brother-in-law. An app that would erase everything if he tapped it.

The judge was correct: this was a man who would lie about anything.

. . .

So what is the legacy of the ex-wife?

One day I realized my marriage was sham, and my ex-husband was a crazy lying cheating thief, and that some anonymous sex partners might come knocking on my door at any time to attack me and my babies. My brain brain changed. My reality met my nightmare.

Afterwards I was told that good metaphor is that my skin was stripped off, and I am sometimes raw, exposed. If anyone touches me, I scream.

That is the legacy of the ex-wife.

. . .

There are many other legacies, still unknown, though I like to think that some of them are positive: honesty and courage and resilience and expanded empathy to others who are struggling.

But another legacy is this: you can’t trust your instincts.  Your instincts have spent years telling you that something was terribly wrong, and then when you speak up,  someone convinces you, over and over again, that your instincts are wrong.

This is a terrible thing. You stop trusting your judgement. And you need your judgement to live in this world. You need your instincts to survive. Without these things you can no longer tell when the world is a safe or dangerous place, or when someone is trustworthy or evil. You are so confused that you become paralyzed. Or you make bad decisions about which situations and people to trust, which is why I have to assume that women get caught up dating a certain kind of man over and over again.

And on the other hand, if you can’t trust your instincts, then you become hyper vigilant, and then maybe everyone is evil and cheating. Because that is the safest way to think about things. That way you won’t get hurt ever again.

Or maybe you just get caught up in the cycle that is so familiar to you: hyper vigilance, snooping, not trusting, second-guessing, never really knowing what reality is. It’s an ugly and stressful and soul-sucking place. It’s a place between two worlds: Madness and Euphoria.

And then the hard work begins. Because Madness is not an acceptable place to be. Not for a survivor, not for someone who wants to live again.

. . .